


(Not Like) They Do On The Discovery Channel

by TheseusInTheMaze



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Body Dysphoria, F/M, Fantasizing, Incest, M/M, Masturbation, Podfic Welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 18:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20314012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheseusInTheMaze/pseuds/TheseusInTheMaze
Summary: Luther is a tad... on edge. Klaus notices, and makes some suggestions.





	(Not Like) They Do On The Discovery Channel

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the ever lovely Electra XT!

"What is _up_ with you lately?" 

Luther looked down at Klaus, who was sitting at the kitchen table, four different balls of yarn in front of him, doing something complicated with circular knitting needles. "What?"

"What's up with you lately?" Klaus repeated. "Are things okay with you and Allison?" 

"I'm fine. Everything is fine with Allison. Why, did she say something?" Luther's stomach dropped, and anxiety bubbled up into his throat.

"She hasn't said anything," Klaus assured Luther, and he was grinning. "But you seem… on edge, and I keep hearing the familiar buzzing from her room. It's like the old days, except now she's got something with some _oomph_ and not just an electric toothbrush." He waggled his eyebrows at Luther, and Luther frowned. 

"What?" 

"You know…" Klaus made a hand gesture that Luther didn't understand. 

"Not really, no," Luther said, and he tried not to sound too grouchy. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't know."

"Jerking off," said Klaus. "Flicking the bean. Paddling the pink canoe. Finger painting. Visiting the safe deposit box. Masturbating, Luther!"

"Those can't be real terms," said Luther, as the idea of Allison masturbating settled into his mind like a feather landing on the water. He didn't really know how women masturbated, but the fact that she did… sure was something. "Wait, you guys don't share a wall. How can you hear that and I don't?"

"Do you not hear the buzzing?" Klaus looked shocked.

"I mean," said Luther, "I hear a lot of sounds. I don't know what all of them are." Earth was so _noisy_, and even after three months he was still getting used to it. It was nice to know there wasn't an endless vacuum on the other end of the wall. The reminders were nice, but also nerve wracking. They sometimes made it hard to sleep. 

"Well, there's a certain type of buzz that means that someone's using a vibrator. It… resonates, let us say," said Klaus, and he rested his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands. 

"Huh," Luther said.

"Are you two still…" Klaus’s face seemed to be trying to convey something. Luther picked up on it, more or less. 

"We're taking it slow," he said, which was easier than saying _we're both so nervy about physical touch these days that even a few minutes of kissing can feel like drowning_. Between Luther's body being what it was, and Allison having her throat slit, well… they did a lot of hand holding. Not that Luther was complaining. But he was getting more restless, and he kept getting erections at awkward times. 

"Well, she's certainly been busy," Klaus said, his tone as dry as moon dust. 

"Why are you listening to that?" Luther tried not to sound too scandalized, and also not to ask Klaus for more information, because that would be _weird_. 

Although did they do anything that wasn't weird, in this family?

"I can't just turn my ears off!" Klaus argued. "Besides, if she's putting on a free show…" He grinned, lecherous as a billy goat. 

"You're not," Luther said, and his heart was beating louder in his ears. It seemed to be beating between his legs as well, as his cock began to swell up. 

"I mean," Klaus said, and he drew out the syllables, and his needles clicked, "Allison is a _very_ beautiful woman." 

"Don't you like men?" Luther was aware of how ridiculous he sounded even as he said it, and he winced. 

"I can appreciate almost any type of human being, if they're the right kind of hot," Klaus said. "You ought to try it. Add some variety to the nightly jerk off session."

"I don't… do that," said Luther, and his face was turning bright red. 

"What, fantasize?" Klaus looked faintly nonplussed. "You didn't strike me as the porno type."

"No, not that. I don't… you know, masturbate." Luther was saying this in his own kitchen. Oh god. His mother had made pancakes standing at that very stove that morning.

"You're fucking with me," Klaus said flatly. His needles had stopped moving. 

"It's hard to get an erection in space," Luther said in a rush, and he pulled a chair back and sat down. "And Dad was monitoring me…" He paused, and he was aware of the sour look going across his face. "I thought Dad was monitoring me," he corrected. "And then I just .. fell out of the habit."

"So you were alone on the moon for four years and you didn't even jerk off?" Klaus's voice was rising in tone and pitch. 

"... Yes?" Luther wondered if he had a new power that would just let him melt and leave this conversation as completely as possible. 

Klaus put his needles down. He opened his mouth to say something, and closed it. Tried again, but nothing came out. He rested his elbows on the table and just _stared_. Finally, he seemed to find his voice again. "You haven't had an orgasm you were awake or sober for in _four years_?"

"I mean," Luther said, and he cleared his throat. "I still get, y'know, dreams occasionally. And I had sex, which means I… probably had an orgasm." He still didn't remember anything at all from that night. 

"But you haven't had an orgasm on purpose while awake in almost half a decade?" Klaus leaned back in his chair. "Geez, no wonder you had such a stick up your ass!"

"Hey," Luther said, without much rancor. 

"Had. I said _had_," said Klaus. "Well… you're back on Earth without any monitoring equipment. Why not get to it?" 

"It just…" Luther covered his own face with his hands, aware of how ridiculously huge they were. “It feels weird,” he said.

“You are far gone, if even sexual pleasure feels weird,” said Klaus.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Luther said, his voice muffled by his hands. “It’s just... hard to describe.”

“What’s so hard to describe?” Klaus had scent the metaphorical blood in the water, and was going after it like a shark.

“It’s… I look like _this_ now,” said Luther, indicating his body, in all its strangeness. “It’s… this isn’t my body. Except it is.” He shrugged, aware of how ridiculous he sounded. 

“Well, yeah, okay, there would be a hell of an adjustment period,” Klaus conceded, and he picked his needles up yet again. “But no time like the present, right?”

“Why are you so adamant about me masturbating?” Luther gave Klaus a suspicious look. This was beginning to feel like a wind up. 

“Because you are making me crazy with all the pacing and the doing projects,” Klaus said bluntly.

Luther didn’t say anything, just looked at the yarn all over the table. 

“Listen,” Klaus said, and then he laughed. Say what you wanted about Luther’s brother, at least he didn’t take himself too seriously. “I know displacement behavior when I see it.”

“What are you displacing, then?” Luther leaned back in his chair, and it creaked alarmingly. 

"The fact that being sober fucking sucks," said Klaus. "It is boring and repetitive and full of stupid shit that I don't want to have to deal with." He put down the needles, and was making emphatic hand motions. 

"Like what?" 

"Laundry!" Klaus jabbed a finger upwards. "Doing laundry sober is _boring_ and _inane_ and every second I spend sitting there watching my underwear spin round and round I could be doing something much more productive!"

"You don't have to watch it," Luther pointed out, his tone mild. Considering how much Klaus usually liked to poke and prod him, it was fun to wind his brother up a bit. 

"But I do!" Klaus waved his hands around some more. "Now that Ben is alive again and not tied to me I can't just say ‘come get me when the buzzer goes off’ but also there's nothing to do down there but read or whatever and the noise is distracting, so I end up just staring at it." Klaus took a breath, and then he shot Luther a puzzled look. "You don't usually let me go on like that."

"I wanted to see when you'd take a breath," said Luther. "Although the laundry thing does explain why you dress… like that."

"Jackass," said Klaus, with affection. "But it would do you good to rub one out. Release some tension."

"What if…" Luther lowered his voice and leaned forward,so that he wasn't too loud. "What if I'm doing it wrong?"

Klaus let out an ugly bray of laughter, then held his hands up placatingly. "Sorry, sorry," he said. "That wasn't… I'm not laughing at you. I mean, I am, a little bit. Sorry."

"Forget I said anything," Luther said. 

"No," said Klaus. "No, that was a jackass thing to do. I'm sorry.” He took a deep breath, picked up his needles, did… something that created more fabric, then set the needles down, seemingly settled. "Figure out how to make yourself feel good," he instructed Luther. "Don't rip anything, use lube, don't squeeze too hard."

"Right," said Luther. He was in way over his head. 

"I get… I mean, I don't get what you're going through," said Klaus, and there was genuine concern on his face now. "Dad fucked you over in an especially horrific way that I can't even imagine ever happening to me."

"It wasn’t as bad for me,” Luther tried, and then he caught the look that Klaus was shooting him, and he shut his mouth with an audible click. “It wasn’t like how he was to you," Luther tried instead. 

"Oh, certainly not," Klaus agreed. "He fucked me up in ways that _you_ can't comprehend. We all have our own special childhood traumas, courtesy of dear old Papa." He snorted, leaned back. "It isn't a contest. Sure, he fucked me over and pushed me towards a lifetime of drug abuse, but…" His eyes swept over the width of Luther's shoulders, broad in his turtleneck. "He put you in solitary confinement up on the moon, and then he did all that. At least I still look like the me I've always looked like, aside from the..." Klaus gestured broadly at himself, then raised his eyebrows at the uncomprehending look Luther knew he was giving him. 

"Aside from what?" Luther hazarded.

"Oh, you know, the ravages of getting older, losing the love of my life in a war when I was stuck out of time, to say nothing of the drug abuse."

“Oh,” said Luther, then; “ravages of getting older?” 

“I’m not exactly the lithe little ingenue I was as a youth,” said Klaus, and he shrugged. “It isn’t the end of the world. At least my hands don’t shake like they used to.” He held a hand up, and it was steady. 

"Since when did you get so insightful?" Luther tried to hide his embarrassment, then caught Klaus's eye.

"Vanya's therapist," said Klaus. "And you don't have to deal with aforementioned lifetime of drug abuse stemming from the trauma of shit like being locked in a crypt with screaming ghosts. We're all carrying our own demons around."

"I'm sorry," said Luther. What else could he say?

"Don't be," said Klaus. "You didn't do it, and you were just a kid. Dad fucked us all over," Klaus said, and his voice was as bitter as his face. "And you should jerk off. "

"What's one thing got to do with the other?' Luther frowned, trying to piece it together. 

"Nothing," Klaus said. "But I wanted to get back to my original point. Which is how you need to jerk off. If only to take the edge off a bit."

“I’m not that edgy,” Luther protested. “I don’t need any - ”

“Luther, you were talking seriously about keeping pigeons on the roof,” Klaus interrupted.

“So?” Luther frowned. He’d been reading a book about pigeon keeping, and it had seemed like an interesting idea. He’d always liked pigeons— they weren’t bright or showy birds, but when the light caught them at the right angle, they shone like an oil slick. Their father had always complained about pigeons, and some petty part of Luther figured it was what the old man deserved. It wasn’t as if they were using the roof for much else anyway. 

“That is _not_ the thought process of a man who is in his right mind!” 

“Says the guy who has been knitting obsessively,” Luther said dryly. 

“It takes one to know one,” Klaus said promptly. "Anyway, it isn't just knitting. I was crocheting as well!"

"What's the difference?" 

"One uses a… never mind." Klaus crossed his arms. "My _original_ point, lo those many tangents ago, was that you should jerk off. It's good for you, on like a million different levels."

"A million," Luther said dryly. 

"Totally!" Klaus began to list things on his fingers. "It'll clean your tubes out, since the come you've got in your balls is probably _rotten_ by now—"

"Klaus!" Luther wished he didn't sound so scandalized. "It doesn't… that isn't biology!"

"Whatever," Klaus said. He was never one to let the facts get in the way of whatever was going through his head. "It might make stuff go easier with Allison too, since you won't be concentrating on how much you just want to come!"

"You're projecting," Luther said firmly. 

"You'll at least feel more relaxed," said Klaus. "Nothing helps you relax like a good ol' monkey spanking session.” Then he paused. “No offense,” he added, and Luther rolled his eyes. 

"Real mature," he said dryly. 

"You know me," said Klaus. 

"I do," Luther agreed. "For better or for worse."

"I put so much work into giving you a pep talk, and you _insult_ me?" Klaus put a hand over his heart in mock outrage. 

Luther rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. 

"Maybe jerking off will help your training," said Klaus. "You know, get some of the tension out of your muscles. Loosen you up."

"You think so?" Klaus had found a weak point— Luther was always trying to improve his training. 

"Totally," said Klaus. 

"I need to get lube," said Luther, and oh _god_, how was that a thing he had just said to his brother? 

"I can lend you some of mine, if that's not too weird," said Klaus. "Well, not lend, because that implies that I'm expecting you to give it back."

"Um," said Luther, then: "okay."

Klaus grinned, and Luther tried not to bristle over how _knowing_ that grin was. 

"I'll get you your own bottle the next time I go out," said Klaus. 

"Thanks," said Luther. "I'm going to, uh…" He cleared his throat. 

"You want me to get you that lube now, big guy?" 

Luther blushed so hard that he felt it in his temples, and he cleared his throat. "I, uh… would appreciate that," he said, as awkward as ever. 

Klaus snickered, but he stood up. "Always happy to help my favorite brother," he said. 

"I'm your favorite brother?" Luther raised an eyebrow. 

"Tied with my other four," Klaus said promptly. 

Luther rolled his eyes, opened his mouth to reply with something snarky, and then thought better of it. They were having a genuine bonding moment. Anyway, if he annoyed Klaus too much, Klaus might tell everyone about the lube thing. 

* * *

Luther sat on his bed that night, and he tried to remember how he used to do this. He had masturbated as a teenager— he had masturbated as an adult, even. It had been a thing that he did with his body, when he had still been proud of his body. When his body had still been _his_ body, and not just this huge, hulking thing that he inhabited. 

It was _his_ body. He had been living in it for all those years, even if he had been sort of detached from it. And he still got aroused, so he just had to… see that to its logical conclusion!

He lay back in his bed, all the lights turned off, and he reached between his legs to give his cock a squeeze. It was still soft— he was trying to get in the right mindset, but it was difficult. But okay. What had he used to think about, to get horny?

Allison. Kissing Allison, holding Allison, his hands on Allison's face, Allison's breasts. Holding Allison in his arms. He grasped a scenario at random— Allison in bed with him right now. Maybe balancing on his lap, pressing her soft ass against his cock, her breasts shaking as she ground against him. The scent of her perfume, the warmth of her body against him, her hands on his chest…

Except her hands would be encountering hair. No way would Allison be interested in him like this. It was probably on reason they hadn't been doing much more than kissing— she was probably as disgusted by his big, awkward body as he was. Why was he even bothering with this? It was a lost cause. 

Luther drew his hand back, rolled onto his stomach, and pressed his face into his pillow. This was stupid. Klaus was full of shit— what did he know about anything? 

* * *

“So how’d it go last night?” Klaus slapped Luther on the back, as Luther sat at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee.

“It didn’t work,” Luther mumbled into his coffee. 

"What was that?" Klaus tilted his head over, presenting one ear towards Luther. "Could you say that again? I think I misheard you."

"I said it didn't work," Luther said, a little louder this time. Thankfully, they were in an empty kitchen. Although logically, it wasn't as if he had said anything particularly… incriminating. 

"What didn't work, the lube?" Klaus frowned, and sat on the table beside Luther, his feet dangling. He was wearing a green sun dress printed with tulips— it looked airy and comfortable in the heat of the day. Especially compared to the stifling heat of Luther's turtleneck. 

"No, just… all of it." Luther took a swig of coffee. Maybe Klaus would get the hint and drop it. 

Fat chance. 

"Can you not get it up?" Klaus was frowning now, and he had his elbows on his thighs. "Maybe it was all that time on the moon. I'm sure we could ask Mom to whip you up something, she's made us medicine in the—"

"No," Luther said, before Klaus could continue down that particular road. "No, I just… it didn't work."

"What about it didn't work?" Klaus was leveling that surprisingly intense gaze at Luther, and Luther was trying not to blush harder. 

"I couldn't get into the mindset," said Luther, and he was blushing as he said it. "I kept thinking about… stuff that took me out of it."

"So don't think of that stuff," Klaus said promptly. "When you start drifting towards not sexy stuff, change your trajectory. Like how Diego does with anything he throws."

"Why are you so invested?" 

"Because," Klaus said, "you are pacing around with an anxious air that's putting me on edge. You're going to wear a divot into the floor if you keep this up."

"I will not," Luther protested. “Maybe I’ll take up a new training regime.”

“Luther,” Klaus said, “you train endlessly. You’re going to pull one of those ridiculous muscles of yours and end up in traction for two months and then you might actually _explode_ from sexual frustration and who knows what else it is that drives you as a person.”

“Plenty of things drive me as a person,” Luther said. “I’m not just sexually frustrated.” 

“You’re a lot of things,” said Klaus. “So what keeps tripping you up?”

“Why are you like this?” Luther asked, looking at Klaus over the rim of his coffee cup. 

“Because someone has to be,” said Klaus, and he brought his knees up to his chin, draping his skirt over his legs. “So what keeps tripping you up?” 

Luther glared at Klaus. 

Klaus remained unrepentant. “I can do this all day,” he said. “Just embrace it.”

“Why are you doing this?” Luther rested his head in his hands.

“Because I’m bored and I care about you,” said Klaus. 

Luther looked at him incredulously. 

“Listen,” Klaus said, and he leaned forward, until his forehead was almost touching Luther’s. His breath smelled like cigarettes. His hands were on Luther’s face, and Luther could have leaned forward and kissed Klaus, right then and there. “I love you very much, and sobriety is very boring. I am getting blisters on my fingers from too much knitting and Diego has threatened me with bodily harm if I ask him to take me to the craft store again and I still don’t like taking the bus.” 

“Oh,” said Luther. 

“So,” said Klaus, “what’s the problem you’re having right now?” He was still holding on to Luther’s head. His fingernails were very blunt, but very solid. They were probably painted some color, but Luther hadn’t noticed. 

“I… when I try to… think about , y’know, having sex, I remember what I look like,” said Luther.

“So don’t think about yourself having sex,” Klaus said, and he let go of Luther’s face.

Luther paused. “What?”

“You don’t have to think about yourself having sex,” Klaus repeated. “Listen, you wanna know my main jerk off fantasy?”

“Not particularly, no,” said Luther, and he took another slurp of coffee. Everything still smelled like cigarettes, and the coffee had an odd taste. 

“Tough shit, I’m gonna tell you anyway.” Klaus put his hands behind his head, leaning back a bit, and he looked up at the ceiling. “So in this fantasy, there’s this dude and this lady, right?” 

“I wouldn’t know,” said Luther. “I’m not in your head.”

“So there’s this dude and this lady,” said Klaus, “and sometimes I like to mix and match what everyone looks like, so sometimes he wears a dress or sometimes she’s got a dick, to say nothing of hair colors, faces, shit like that. But he gets on his knees and he’s using his mouth on her, and she comes all over his face, and then, if I’m in for the long haul, she’ll ride his dick. Or sometimes she’ll fuck his ass, again, depending on the sort of mood I’m in.” Klaud made a vague hand gesture. 

“And… where are you in all of this?” It was remarkably straightforward. Luther knew a whole bunch of different things that Klaus was interested in— he didn’t really have a choice, considering the way that Klaus overshared. 

“I’m not,” said Klaus. “The thing that makes me come is seeing dicks go into things. I like ‘em in butts, I like ‘em in cunts, I like ‘em in mouths… if it’s a place a dick can fit, I’ve probably jerked off imagining it—”

“Yes, yes,” Luther said, cutting him off. “But doesn’t it make it weird, if you’re not… like, you’re watching _other people_ have sex.”

Klaus shrugged. “It’s all in my head,” he said. “It’s not like I’m going to tell the cute teller at the bank, ’oh, by the way, I came so hard I saw stars last night thinking about you getting a hot load of come on your face’ while I’m making a deposit.” Then he grinned. “Although I wouldn’t mind making a different sort of deposit.” 

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Luther said, his head in his hands.

“Yes you can,” Klaus said. “Although I’m surprised you didn’t ask me about where I was getting money to deposit.”

Luther shrugged. “For all I know you’re selling your socks to perverts on street corners.”

“As if I wear socks often enough to sell them,” Klaus scolded, and he wriggled his bare toes. “But seriously, you don’t need to fantasize about yourself, or about just one thing, or one scene, or whatever. If your dick gets hard to the idea of shining a pair of shoes, you make that leather shiny.”

"Klaus," Luther said in a long suffering tone.

"Luther," Klaus echoed back, and he used the same tone.

"Why is this so... difficult?" Luther hated the way his voice was faintly unsteady. He hated looked weak, especially about something like... well, _this_. 

In a weird way, it was like he was inhabiting his body for the first time, after all these years. He was faintly surprised at how embarrassing this was. Here he was, a grown man, scared of his own body. 

His hairy, freakishly muscled body that was foisted on him after he had nearly died. 

"Because Dad fucked us all in the head and we're all still dealing with the repercussions of that," Klaus said. 

"Well," Luther said, "if it's really that simple." 

"Indeed," said Klaus, and he patted Luther on the shoulder. "If you're really stuck, you could get a porno magazine, or going to a blue movie."

"No," said Luther. 

"If you're anxious about going out of the house to buy a dirty mag—"

"_No_," Luther said, with more feeling. Klaus giving him lube was one thing. Klaus giving him porn was an entirely different kettle of fish. There were some boundaries that Luther needed to maintain, even if it was just for his own sanity.

"Do you even know what kind of porno you'd _like_?" Now Klaus sounded like he was pondering one of the great questions of the universe. 

"I'm done with this conversation," Luther said flatly. 

"I'm wondering now," said Klaus. "'cause, like, you only really discover that sort of shit with a lot of exploration, and even I'm tripping over new shit that gets me off, and I've been doing this shit since—"

Luther stood up and walked off, mug still in hand. 

"You'll figure it out," Klaus called after him.

If Luther had a little less decorum, he might have made a rude hand gesture. As it was, he made his way towards his bedroom to go ponder whatever it was he was dealing with.

Stuff was simpler when he was a kid. He just needed to train more, work harder, listen more intently. He could go to Allison with all of his problems, or to Mom, and they'd help him figure it out. Back then, he could trust that he might not understand why Dad did what he did, but at least he had a reason for it. 

Back then, his body had fit. 

He rubbed his face with both hands, and he tried not to think about how much bigger his hands were, how awkward that was. But... fuck it. He'd figure something out. 

* * * 

Against his own better judgement, Luther tried again that night. 

Maybe it was the insomnia. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, and some part of him wanted to get up and check the instruments, except there weren't any instruments for him to check anymore. Part of him wanted to make sure that everything was airtight, that he didn't need to worry about a seal breaking. Except there weren't any seals to worry about, either. 

Whenever he was anxious about something, his mind tended to default to survival mode. But what was he so anxious about in the first place? Other than the embarrassment of his body, and the fact that he was just out of practice, what was the issue?

It was going to look stupid. Like a gorilla at the zoo, jerking itself off to scandalize the parents and lead the kids to ask awkward questions. He sighed, as the idea finally took root in his head. His chest was tight, and so was the back of his throat. He knew that he looked ridiculous, looked ugly, looked— 

_Allison still kisses you_, said something in the back of his mind, and he paused. It sounded like Klaus. 

Allison did still kiss him. Allison still kissed him, and her hands were sure on his face. She didn't flinch away from his hands on her own hands, on her face, tucking her hair behind her ear. He imagined unbuttoning her shirt, but his own hands kept distracting him in the image. So... Allison unbuttoning her own shirt, and he'd seen her without a shirt, seen the shadows of her nipples under the lace, and he'd felt the softness of her breast in his hand, the hardness of her nipple. He'd been overwhelmed, pulled away from her, but what if that hadn't happened? What if... what if he kissed her, and kept kissing her? Undid her bra, felt the hardness of her nipples against his thumbs? 

He looked down the length of his body, and... he was hard in his pajama pants. His heart was beating steadily and strong, throbbing between his legs. He reached a hand down, and he squeezed his cock, the rub of cotton over the sensitive head an exquisite tease. 

“Okay,” Luther said out loud. “Okay. I can do this.” He kept his pajama pants on for now— it was easier, not seeing the way his hand looked on his cock. His cock was still his cock, even if it seemed smaller now, compared to the rest of him. But everything below his waist was fine. He grasped it, and he pressed his thumb against the head, and that was enough to send a little shiver of desire down his back. 

He closed his eyes. Klaus had said to let his mind wander. It felt odd, trying to concentrate on just Allison, so he let his mind wander. His cock twitched in his hand, as Allison became Klaus. Klaus, with his bright green eyes and his bony hands, and now the fantasy was somehow on the moon.

The moon would have been _Hell_ if Klaus was there, but it would have been nice, to have some company. Someone else to talk to. Klaus, sprawled out on Luther’s bed on the moon, jerking his own cock. Klaus… Klaus had talked about stuff. A lot of stuff over the years. There was apparently a spot inside of a guy’s ass that made you come _buckets_, as Klaus put it.

That had been an exciting breakfast. 

What would it be like to watch Klaus finger himself? Luther had never seen anything like that, but Klaus sure did talk about it a lot. He kept stroking himself, as his pre-come soaked through his pajama pants. It was wet and sticky already— he was going to have to wash them. He kept stroking himself, trying to banish that thought from his mind.

Being on the moon, in his bed, maybe curled around Allison, maybe around Klaus. Either of them was good, really. He had crept into the fantasy somehow, only now he wasn’t watching it, just feeling it. He was so _big_ now, but what if someone lay on top of him? He kept humping his hand, and he dug his heels into the bed, rolling his hips. His cock was throbbing now, in earnest, and he kept fucking his fist. 

Klaus or Allison or Vanya or Diego, smaller than him, that would fit in his arms. Delicate ribs under his heavy hands, hot breath against his face, sweaty skin sliding against the hair on his chest. The faces flickered in front of him, faces and body parts. In his mind, he wasn’t some kind of monster like he was in real life— he was himself. Still his own body, but not something to be afraid of. 

His family wasn’t afraid of him. Even Vanya wasn’t afraid of him, and she should have been. But what if he held Allison to him and drove his cock inside of her, what if he made her feel good, what if he kissed her until her lips were swollen? They had kissed like that few times, until she had sagged against him, shaking, her mouth open as she panted. What was Klaus like, when he was kissed? 

Luther pressed his own fingers against his lips and imagined the scratch of facial hair against his cheeks, imagined the sensation of Klaus’s lean, bony form against his own bulky body. He was big and strong enough to lift someone up, and he was big enough to just… surround them with his own body. For the first time, he saw himself in his fantasy, and he wasn’t disgusted. He wasn’t aroused, either, because his minds eye was focused on the face in front of him, which kept changing, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was how good he felt, how good he was making _them_ feel, how he was sharing this moment with them, and they were sharing this moment with him. 

He didn’t remember when he lost his virginity, didn’t remember kissing that girl at the club. He didn’t want to. The idea of someone touching him who didn’t love him, didn’t _know_ him, felt some kind of wrong, and he sobbed, his face wet, as his fist sped up on his cock. The pressure was building and building at the base of his gut, and it was familiar and foreign at the same time. He had done this as a teenager, lain awake at night imagining burying his cock in Allison, imagining her breasts or her hands or her hair or her face. But this was… different. He was a different person now. 

He held the picture of Allison or Klaus on top of him, and a heartbeat under his palm. Pinching a nipple, delicate between his thick fingers, and something wet and hot around his cock— a mouth, an ass, a pussy. Someone’s tongue in his ear, someone’s mouth on his neck, bouncing breasts, rippling abs, a hard cock, a wet cunt…

Luther came in his pajama pants, his cock spurting into his pajama pants, and the mess of it was soaking into his pubic hair, along his balls. It was… unpleasant, but god, the langor tugging at his limbs was better than the drugs at the rave had been. He let his eyes slide shut, and he let out a long, deep breath. He fell asleep wondering what it would be like to have another human being pressed into him. 

Maybe tomorrow, he’d ask if Allison would be willing to come to bed. Or at least ask her to take her shirt off. 

Although goddamn, was Klaus going to be smug in the morning.


End file.
